


flesh & bone

by starskies



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, mark snow!!!!!!, this is like a weird mix of got-inspired crap and google searches on old british castles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-05-07 07:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starskies/pseuds/starskies
Summary: Prince Mark was born in the North, and grew up surrounded by snow and mountains. He never thought that his life would go very far beyond the Northern castle's walls. As the second son, his only duty was to dedicate his life to his kingdom, but never to lead it. He wasn’t born to be a king.But when a messenger arrives suddenly from the Southern Kingdom, requesting a consort for their prince, Mark finds that nothing about his life is quite as simple as it once seemed.





	flesh & bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii i just wanna give a disclaimer that i'm very busy currently, with other life things and other works i'm writing, so this fic is currently on the back burner and prob won’t be updated any time soon. that said, i still hope that you enjoy!! happy reading~

The sunlight tumbling through the curtains does so in fits and starts. February has left it desaturated and the outlines that it draws over leather and layers of thick fur are pale and cold.

Mark notes with a distant kind of detachment that the velvet drapes are normally pulled shut during most of the winter, to keep a chill from seeping into the throne room. It’s always freezing anyway, a bone-deep sort of thing that pervades every moment of the cold season, prevented by neither thick drapes nor lit hearths. It’s for this reason that the room isn’t often used in winter; Mark’s father usually holds meetings in the smaller assembly chambers instead. Mark can only remember a few times that a meeting has been large enough and urgent enough to warrant the use of the throne room so deep into the season.

It is partly this thought that caused him such dread upon being woken up, just before the first light of dawn this morning, summoned by his father. When he arrived, the millions of worries crashing through his head, from ruined food stores to his family falling ill, were silenced in a moment.

On the throne sits his father, in his long robes of thick wool and furs, crisscrossing shades of brown and grey and dark green. The silver crown upon his head looks like a heavier burden on this quiet February morning than Mark has ever seen. At his side sits Mark’s mother, still in her sleep gown and wearing such a deep crack in her usually calm expression that it causes a momentary shock. Mark’s brother, Youngho, stands at his father’s other side, and it is him that Mark looks to immediately, searching for answers in his dark eyes.

“Mark.” King Myeongho’s voice, so normally filled with warmth when he speaks to his children, is tainted dark.

“Father,” Mark says. “What has happened?”

Silence echoes around the hall, cold and unyielding to the fragile human breaths. The king looks down, as if unable to meet his son’s eyes for a moment, and it is then that Mark notices the scroll of parchment crushed in his fist.

“Late last night, messenger ravens arrived in the city. News has come, from the South.”

 

 

❄

 

 

When the words hit, Mark receives them through a fuzzy layer of nothingness, so that the realization only trickles into him slowly, and not all at once.

The throne room, in the castle, in the city of Buksan, the capital of the Northern Kingdom, is where Mark’s life comes to a quiet end. His normal life. The one that he grew up with and loved and hated and struggled through and laughed at and thought that he would grow old in. He never expected that it would end so quickly, so suddenly, and he would find himself forced to prepare for a new life, one that he had never asked for.

And yet, there it was. In less than six months, Mark, prince of the North, second son, skilled archer, terrible hunter, beloved by his people and a Northman though and through, will have to die. He will die with all of the dignity and grace of the North, snow in his veins and strength in his step, to make way for the new Prince Mark, the one who will find his home as far south as south goes, who will spend his time in Southern courtrooms, surrounded by golden-haired people and silken luxury. This one who will no longer journey high into the mountains with his father and brother to hunt elk and caribou, who will not see his sister leave on her eighteenth birthday for the Western Kingdom to marry, who will not see his brother crowned king, who will not marry a kind Northern woman that would bear him children to grow up framed in by snow and blue peaks.

Mark allows himself a small moment, a moment to bow his head and mourn what he can feel dying, deep in his chest, what he now knows his parents felt die only a few hours before, as they were handed a scroll stamped with a golden seal.

But Mark knows his duty, and he knows that for all he is being asked to give up, his family and his people will continue to live in peace for it. It is this thought that he grabs a hold of, and clings to with all his might.

When Mark lifts his gaze back up to meet his father’s, his eyes are clear.

 

 

❄

 

 

_There was an accident. Princess Kera has died._

This is all that his father says, and this is all that he needs to say for Mark to understand.

Many years ago, when Youngho was seven years old and Mark only two, war broke out in the southern edge of their territory. The Eastern Kingdom had invaded, suddenly and swiftly. It was ultimately about territory, and power, and how the East apparently didn’t have enough of it; the South is the biggest kingdom, and therefore the most affluent and influential. The Eastern King knew that he could not start a conflict with the South directly unless he wanted his empire crushed rapidly and mercilessly, so he turned North instead.

His first mistake was to underestimate both the North’s harsh environment, and the stubbornness of the Northerners. His second mistake was to underestimate the South’s willingness to extend aid to the North at such a dangerous time.

As it turned out, the latter was the much greater reason for the East’s downfall. It was as they closed in on the North capital that they were caught from behind by the Southern Kingdom’s army. Within several hours, the Eastern invasion was brought to a swift and harsh end by a combination of both Northern and Southern troops.

After such a great offense, punishment was not to be dealt with lightly. The Southern King began to talk of dividing up the East, cutting down its power so that it could not organize to attack its neighbors ever again. Only King Myeongho could talk him out of it, convince him that it would be enough to reduce its army’s size, and institute a greater foreign presence in the East to maintain a close watch over them. Southern officials immediately took positions in almost every branch of the Eastern government.

But the worst part of the punishment, in the King’s eyes, was the taking of his only son. He had no Queen, only three children left to him. The oldest, Yuta, was six years old at the time, but was the heir to the Eastern Kingdom. The Southern King decided to have him sent North, to become the ward of King Myeongho.

Being so young, Mark doesn’t actually remember anything of the war, nor its aftermath. He doesn’t remember a time before Yuta was with them, and so has always treated him as a brother. He learned to do so from his mother, a foreigner herself, as she raised Yuta as if he were her own son. She always said that war and betrayal had nothing to do with a child.

What Mark does remember however, from his history classes more than anything else, is that it was that year Princess Kera was born, to Queen Corin of the Emerald Isles. She was born shortly before the war, and from the moment of her birth she was promised to Prince Donghyuck of the Southern Kingdom, with the two to wed on the day of Prince Donghyuck’s twentieth birthday.

Her death meant that several things suddenly became very relevant. Since Donghyuck was seventeen and no longer had a princess to marry, his parents would be searching desperately for another royal to replace her before his twentieth birthday. An alliance between the North and South through marriage would ultimately be beneficial to both Kingdoms, and solidify a good relationship between them. And after their assistance in the war, the North still owed the South a substantial debt and so could easily be asked to provide the Southern prince a spouse. The North could only afford to accept.

The place this brought them to was that Minji, Mark’s younger sister, had already been promised to a prince of the Western Kingdom, and Youngho was promised to the Northern crown. Mark, however, was promised to no one.

The Southern Kingdom had requested his engagement to their prince.

 

 

❄

 

 

Everything in the throne room felt blurry, and distant. Now, alone in his bedroom, the world feels too close.

Mark’s mind buzzes quietly as he takes in the strangely sharp details of his surroundings from his place on the bed. His fingers sink into the plush goose down used to cushion his mattress, and the array of soft furs spread over the blankets tickle his arms. Emerald green tapestries brighten the room and cover the cold stone walls, embroidered lynxes bounding across them, the symbol of the royal family’s house. _His_ family’s symbol. Not for much longer.

Across the room, there’s a short knock on the heavy wooden door before it cracks open, and warm light spills in.

“Mark?” Youngho calls. “Are you lying here in the dark? You didn’t even bother to light a candle?”

Mark sits up as his brother enters the room, clucking his tongue judgmentally and placing a small red candle on the table next to the bed. He sits beside Mark, and sets an assessing look on him. Mark flops back onto the bed.

“Don’t give me that look, please,” he mumbles.

“What look?”

“The one where you stare into my soul and then say something about how I’m feeling that’s perfectly accurate and incredibly embarrassing."

Youngho lets out a surprised laugh, and leans over to grab Mark’s arm, pulling him back up into a sitting position.

“I wasn’t going to do that,” he says, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eye, telling Mark that was exactly what he was about to do. “I just wanted to see how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine,” Mark says immediately, and when Youngho only raises an eyebrow, “Really. It’ll be fine.”

Even though he knows that others will be upset for him, will feel sympathetic for his situation, he can’t bring himself to show how much he’s struggling with it—he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, or unwilling to do his duty. But Youngho knows Mark better than anyone, and he sees through it easily. And if there’s anyone that Mark can be vulnerable with, it’s his brother.

“It’s just… what’s it like in the South?” he asks, and his voice comes out much smaller than he wanted it to.

Mark has never left the North, but when Youngho was thirteen, their father took him south once. He brought him to observe a diplomatic meeting about the future of the Southern Kingdom’s influence in the East’s government, which at the time was still heavy, even six years after the war ended. He said that Youngho needed experience traveling and dealing with international affairs, and the trip would be a good start. Mark recalls feeling extremely jealous at the time, wishing he could see the sandy beaches and southern palm trees that he had heard of in so many stories.

Since then, his father has never travelled abroad again, and Mark remembers asking him once, why they do not often visit the other kingdoms. His father smiled, and told him, “A man should not leave his home, unless his fate demands it.” Mark then asked if it was in Youngho’s fate to go see the South, and this made his father laugh, as he patted Mark on the shoulder and said, “It is Youngho’s fate to become King of the North one day. Part of being King means that you must sometimes leave, when it helps keep peace with the countries around you."

Even though Mark has heard it before, Youngho still tells him now that the South is beautiful, that the sands there are almost as white as Northern snow, and the sea is a glimmering blue-green that shines under the sun in a way that the North’s steely grey waves could never compare to. He tells him that the Southern King was frightening to a thirteen year old, but is a good, strong man and a good, strong leader. He tells him of the many beautiful people in the South with their tawny and golden hair, matching with their bright gold banners.

He says that it’s warm in the South, warmer even in the winter there than it is in Northern summers. That the view of the sun setting into the horizon over the ocean, the sky a brilliant explosion of bright pinks, oranges, and yellows, is one of the most beautiful sights he has ever witnessed. He says that it didn’t matter how many evenings he spent watching the sun set beneath the waves, though, because he never forgot the North's purple and blue sky, its sun dipping behind snow-tipped mountains at the end of a cold day.

Youngho’s voice is gentle, and when he quiets, Mark realizes that there are tears trailing down his cheeks. He scrubs at his face quickly, shame and guilt warring with the pain and fear stuck at the back of his throat.

“I’ll be okay, hyung,” he croaks. He’s not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or Youngho more, but Youngho doesn’t seem to need it.

“I know you will, Mark,” he says, and the small smile on his lips is sad, but his voice sounds certain. He leans across the bed, and rests a hand on Mark’s shoulder. Mark uses it to ground himself, an anchor to hold onto until his breathing feels steady enough to swallow down the last of his grief. Holding onto it any longer will only make it harder to leave.

 

 

❄

 

 

Mark doesn’t leave his room again until late afternoon. Shortly after Youngho had come to talk to him, Minji burst through the door, dark braids streaming behind her as she ran to his bed screaming bloody murder. Mark didn’t have time to say anything, he and Youngho left to listen to their younger sister's twenty minute rant over the unfairness of the arrangement, and really how _dare_ those Southern bastards (Youngho gasped, asking her where she heard this kind of language; Mark knows she probably got it from Youngho himself).

Mark watched her, looking for any signs that she had cried for him, but he saw none, and was both relieved and unsurprised. Minji had always been strong, never one to bother getting upset over things that she couldn’t change, or things that she could get angry at instead. Mark doesn’t think he’s seen her cry since she was four years old and his father released her pet rabbit back into the wild. 

After Minji finished her tirade, she demanded that they stay in Mark’s room and play dice, so that was what they did; seven rounds, until Youngho had duties to attend to, and Mark decided to go for a walk.

As he moves through the castle’s halls, he notices that every maid he passes looks at him with wide eyes first, and only offers a polite smile and nod second, after Mark greets them. He sighs. There are no secrets in this castle, and if it’s reached all of the staff already, there’s no doubt that the whole city will know before sundown.

He decides to fetch his cloak, and heads down to the entrance hall. The forest just outside town will have less prying stares than the castle’s corridors.

It’s not empty once he gets there. Mark’s cousin, Jaemin, is standing just inside the large doors, banging his boots against the stone floor and shaking snow from his dark hair. Mark watches a moment while he tugs off his cloak to hand to the maid waiting by him, and he gives her such a sticky-sweet smile that she has to quickly duck her head to hide a blush. Mark snorts quietly before he steps out from the corridor.

The entrance hall has the tallest ceiling in all of the castle, leading straight out to the front courtyard, and is the only room not covered in plush rugs or carpet. Large windows, of glass both clear and stained an array of colors, take up most of the top halves of the walls, but below them hang enormous tapestries down to the floor. Many are similar to the ones in Mark’s bedroom, deep greens with stitched silver lynxes, but others show scenes from the North’s history and landscape; old kings and queens watch over the entrance to the castle, while below them hundreds of miniature emerald knights meet a long-gone enemy on an embroidered battlefield, and mountains sewn in blue and grey tower above sprawling forests.

Mark has always loved this room, despite the inevitable chill that seeps in through the doors. When he was young, his mother used to scold him when she found him tucked against the wall in the big room, staring up at the stories stitched above. It wasn’t until he got a nasty cold and was stuck in bed for two weeks that he stopped doing it.

His footsteps echo as he crosses the hard stone floor, and he feels the cold wind creep under his cloak. When Jaemin sees him, his brows crease in an expression of sympathy for a moment; just as Mark thinks that he’s really starting to hate people looking at him like that, Jaemin morphs his face into a full grin and bounds over to him.

“ _Hyung_ , is it true? I hear that you’ve got yourself your very own prince, now,” he quips, grabbing Mark’s arm and leaning into him. “I’m so jealous, I can’t imagine why they didn’t ask for me, instead—everyone knows I’m the better-looking one.”

Mark feels relief crash into him all at once. More than a cousin, Jaemin is Mark’s best friend, first. He can almost always trust him to know what he needs, and right now, pity is the last thing on that list.

“I suppose you’ve heard, too, then. It seems like the whole castle knows already,” Mark says.

“News travels fast here,” Jaemin confirms. “Secrets especially.”

“Gods, is that the truth,” Mark sighs. “I was about to go for a walk in the Fogswood, would you like to come?”

Jaemin agrees, and Mark waits as he goes to quickly retrieve his cloak (flustering the poor maid again), and they set off together.

The snow that must have been falling when Jaemin arrived has stopped, and the late afternoon sky casts pale grey light over the fresh dusting of white. Mark inhales a deep lungful of the fresh, cold air and releases it slowly, watching his breath billow away from his face. The front yard is long, bordered on either side by short stone walls that wrap around and open at a point about fifty feet away, parallel to the front of the castle. The gates are pulled open, as they normally are during the day, and manned by two soldiers standing watch under snow-covered stone lynx statues sitting atop the walls. Beyond the courtyard, two mountains rise high in the distance, their deep blue outlines drawn against the clouds.

Mark and Jaemin say hello to the guards as they pass, walking to the side of the main road that leads down to the city. Once they exit the gates, the buildings of the city below rise into view.

The city of Buksan is in a small valley, tucked behind two tall mountains, and backed by an even taller one. The castle is set behind the rest of the village, sitting on a flat spot of land partway up the mountain so that it overlooks the town, not in a _watching_ kind of way, but a _watching over_ kind of way. The road leading out of the courtyard winds down, connecting the castle to the sprawling expanse of houses, shops, and inns.

Piece by piece, Mark feels the calm of being outside settle into him. Trails of smoke stream out from over the village, and the quiet hum of activity emanating from it begins to reach them as they draw nearer. About halfway down the road, a smaller path splits off to the side, and this is the one that they turn down. From here they can now see the white and green wilderness that is the snow-covered Fogswood.

The journey into the woods is silent, but the farther they go, the more Mark can feel Jaemin humming with unsaid words beside him. It’s not until they reach a small outcropping of rock hidden in a circle of oaks that he decides to bite. He brushes snow off one of the flatter stones and takes a seat, raising an eyebrow at Jaemin.

“Alright, what is it?” he asks.

“Oh, good, are we talking now?” Jaemin bursts out. “You were being weirdly quiet so I thought maybe talking about it was off-limits, it was killing me.”

Mark huffs in amusement and rolls his eyes, and says, “Fine, I guess we can talk about it now. Wouldn’t want you to die or anything.”

“Great.” Jaemin crouches in front of him, seemingly unbothered by his cloak dragging in the snow. “Well, what do you think of him? _Prince Donghyuck_ of the Southern Kingdom. Wow. You really couldn’t have chosen a bigger one to end up with, huh?”

“I don’t… think anything of him, I’ve never even met him,” Mark says. “And I didn’t _choose_ him at all. To be honest, it’s kind of the not knowing thing that's eating at me. I mean, I get that even in normal arranged marriages across kingdoms, you don’t usually get to meet your betrothed very much before you’re married. But you at least… I don’t know, learn more about them, or know to pay special attention when there’s news of them. I only know the bare minimum about Prince Donghyuck—he was never exactly in my realm of interests, before.”

He also doesn’t know as much about the Southern Kingdom as he would like, either. Mark knows that the current King and Queen are both of Southern blood, and as far as he can remember it’s been a few generations at least since the country had a foreign ruler. Domestic marriages are often the most likely to be genuine, as a prince or princess will have some degree of choice among the children of highborns that they meet growing up. Political marriages with foreigners are much more tricky, a clashing of cultures and fealties that make up a minefield to maneuver. Mark knows that his parents are quite lucky, able to find devotion to each other that goes beyond responsibility to their children.

Mark doesn’t want to go into his marriage with expectations to build anything more than stronger political ties between their countries. But he can’t help but think it would be nice, if he and Donghyuck could be friends, at the least.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about the Southern Prince, either,” Jaemin says. He hesitates, looking contemplative of whether he should continue.  “But… I have heard a fair bit of rumors about him. Would it be better or worse for you to know them?”

“I’m sure maids’ gossip isn’t exactly the most accurate source of information, but I guess I’ll take what I can get,” Mark responds. Jaemin grins.

“Well, one of the maids who cleans in my wing of the castle has a sister, supposedly, who went south to work for the Lees,” he says. “And apparently, the first thing that the Southern maids told her when she arrived was to be careful of Prince Donghyuck, because he’s a _huge_ flirt.”

“What?” Mark scoffs. “A bigger flirt than you, Jaemin?”

“No, I’m serious! They tell the girls not to get too close to him, because he'll act coquettish with just about anyone, and it’s said that his beauty is unparalleled.” Jaemin raises his eyebrows mischievously. “It would be quite indecorous for a maid to fall in love with the Prince. _And_ , apparently… it’s not just women that he acts so flirtatious with.”

“Gods, Jaemin, you’re lucky no one else can hear you out here, talking about a prince like that. You make him sound easy,” Mark says, carefully skirting over the last comment. _No expectations._

“It’s just the opposite, though!” Jaemin protests. “With almost every royal, you usually get rumors about them bedding _someone_ before their marriage, maids or prostitutes or other nobles. With him, all the rumors are of the opposite; they say that he flirts with everyone, but any person who has been bold enough to flirt back has gotten nowhere. He doesn’t take anyone to bed.”

“Incredible, then he meets the bare minimum standards for a prince promised to a future spouse,” Mark says drily, "and hasn’t disrupted his family’s reputation by sleeping around the castle.” 

Jaemin just shrugs.

“I dunno. People say he’s especially close to his aide—some think that the two of them may be in a relationship.”

Mark sighs, leaning his head back to stare up at the white sky through the tree branches. The woods are quiet. It’s still early February, but it feels like it’s only been getting colder rather than warmer. He wonders if spring will come late this year.

“I’m not sure why I asked to hear all that, I don’t think it’s making me feel any better.”

“Well, it does tell us one thing about him that’s helpful.”

“What?”

“He probably likes boys, at least.”

 

 

❄

 

 

Four days later, Mark is summoned to his father’s private office. He’s initially glad to be asked for; everyone has been carefully skirting around him the past few days, as if trying to give him space, and Mark is tired of it. It’s boring, firstly, and unnecessary, secondly. He would rather be debating an increase in border patrols with the general, or reading citizens’ requests for royal review of issues with his father. He knows he really must be bored. He hates doing the request forms.

Today, he is interrupted in his third hour of target practice in the back garden. Minji had been with him before, but eventually had to leave their game of trying to shoot pinecones off the wall to attend a lesson. He continued shooting alone for a while, though decidedly less interested in the activity at that point, when his father’s personal messenger came to fetch him.

Now, he raps his knuckles gently against the thick wooden door of his father’s office, and pushes it open when his father calls out, “Come in.”

King Myeongho sits alone at his desk. Several stacks of parchment cover it, organized into different piles depending on their contents. On the other side of the small room is a large table with an equally large map spread out over it, mainly used for war-planning. Now it sits mostly forgotten, a home for the quills and books that his father always forgets to put back in their places. Mark has always enjoyed the cozy feeling of the office, with two walls made entirely of bookshelves filled end-to-end, and the thick brown rugs that cover the floor, and the way that candle light fills the space up with a warm glow.

When Mark approaches, his father motions him to sit in the armchair in front of the desk, and Mark sits. He waits patiently for a minute while his father digs through the piles littering his desk, before he triumphantly pulls a half-rolled piece of parchment out. Mark feels his stomach drop for a moment when he sees the golden seal stamped on it.

“Another raven arrived just yesterday,” the king says, and Mark thinks that there’s something off about his voice as he receives the scroll. “The Southern King has decided to travel north, with his family.”

He eyes Mark over his glasses for a moment, who scans over the small black words quickly, before he sighs and pulls his glasses off, placing them carefully on the desk.

“He says that a personal visit to the North is long past due, if we would be so kind as to host him. And that perhaps the betrothed should meet before the wedding, so that you have some time to get to know one another. That’s what he said, but you understand why he is really doing it, Mark?” Mark looks up at him. “He’s doing it to make the transition easier for you. This way you’ll be able to meet Prince Donghyuck in your own home, before you must move away to his. He’s doing you a great kindness, Mark.”

Mark nods, but can’t seem to find words for a moment. His father must have already responded with his approval. He wonders how much longer he has.

“When will they arrive?”

“They'll probably depart within the next few days, and the journey should take less than three weeks,” he says, and Mark nods again.

“And I suppose when they depart, then, I’ll go with them,” he says. Doesn’t ask.

“Yes, you will,” his father says carefully. “I expect that they will stay for about a month.”

Mark takes a moment to think this over, before he offers his father a small smile of approval.

“I look forward to meeting them, then,” he says. “It is indeed very kind of the Southern King to make the trip all the way up here. I do understand that he didn't have to make such efforts, and I appreciate it. I think it will be good to meet Prince Donghyuck earlier than expected.”

Mark can feel the surprise fading once again, and he finds that the words actually ring true. The idea of meeting Donghyuck had been vaguely terrifying to him before, thinking that he would have to do so surrounded by all foreign people for the first time when he did. But having him in the North for a month before will be a good opportunity for him to adjust to being the crown prince’s consort. For the first time since this all started, Mark feels a small thrill of anticipation.

“Well, then, excellent,” his father says, sounding slightly relieved that Mark seemed to agree so easily. He stands. “Wonderful. We’ll begin preparing to receive the royal family immediately, so perhaps you can help your mother to organize it.”

Noting this as an end to the conversation, Mark nods quickly and rises from his chair as well. He thanks his father and gives a short bow of courtesy, before moving toward the door.

“Ah, Mark,” King Myeongho says, and when Mark turns back, he’s staring down at his desk, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You… you’re doing alright, aren’t you?”

Mark has always been close to his father, but the king has never been much of the type to express his emotions out loud. He has always preferred to communicate his love through action, and left the tricky business of discussing feelings to his wife. The idea of talking about the emotional turmoil Mark has been going through with his father, however, sounds just as unappealing to Mark as it probably does to the king. Confiding in Youngho and Jaemin was one thing, but he would rather not put that burden on his father's shoulders, too. Not only does it feel a little too honest, but embarrassing as well.

“Of course,” Mark responds quickly. “I was a little shocked at first, but… I think I’ve been adjusting to the whole thing quite well.” 

His father nods, after a moment, and Mark is unsure if he truly believes his shaky assurance, or if he recognizes an occasion that he must allow his son to protect his pride. “Good man,” he says, and claps Mark on the shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He steps out around his desk, saying that he just might let the stress take him if he has to see another damn letter with those gold seals, and Mark can’t help but agree.

As he shows him out of the office, Mark thinks that he’s going to miss his father terribly.

 

 

❄

 

 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Mark hisses.

The elk is gone in a second, her hooves throwing up clumps of snow as she disappears between the trees. Mark lowers his bow, and begins the short walk back to the group.

It’s their fourth day in the mountains, and Mark still has yet to even release an arrow. He already knew that he was terrible at hunting, but it’s been a few months since they last went. He supposes he had been hoping that he’d miraculously improved in that time, but it seems not.

“What, nothing again?” Youngho asks as Mark reaches them. “We found one separated from the herd for you and everything. What went wrong this time?”

“I think the wind must have changed direction without me noticing,” Mark sighs. “She probably caught my scent and spooked.”

Hunting trips are normally spring and summer occurrences. The deep cold that settles over the mountain in winter means that they are usually only able to go at the beginning or end of the season. Though it technically is near the end of the season now, the snow and freeze still has yet to let up. In other circumstances, Mark expects that his father would have postponed the trip. Now, this is probably the last opportunity for Mark to go with them. It’s been a difficult couple of days, and they haven’t shot much more than a few winter hares to keep them fed in the dark evenings.

Still, despite how incapable he is at hunting, Mark has always enjoyed the trips. There’s something very comforting about escaping up into the forests of the mountain, the chilly air sweet and clean in his lungs. It’s quiet up here, but not the kind of quiet that’s a void, the one that’s filled with the rustle of tree branches and bird calls and whistling wind.

When Mark hefts his pack back up onto his shoulder, his father says that they’ll set up camp for the night. It’s a short way to the small clearing where they decided earlier to camp, and left the few servants they brought with them to watch over it.

Mark falls back to walk behind the others, and after a moment Yuta stops to join him.

“Mark,” he says, throwing an arm over Mark’s shoulders. “It will always amaze me how you can be the most skilled person in the whole city with a bow, but still fail so spectacularly at hunting. It’s astounding, truly.”

Mark rolls his eyes. “I can’t seem to remember you ever shooting something as big as an elk, either.”

“Ah, but that’s because the opportunities to do so are always given to you and your brother,” he says, but there’s no bitterness in his tone. “I feel like shooting elk should be easier, though, anyway. Bigger target, and all that?” 

Youngho turns back from where he’s walking ahead of them, and grins. “Y’know, I hear that they don’t hunt nearly as often in the South. The Southern King doesn’t much like it. You’re lucky, Mark, you won’t have to make a total fool of yourself on hunting trips anymore.”

Yuta laughs, “Yeah, it’s a good thing, the Southern King probably wouldn’t have chosen you to marry his son had he seen you try to hunt before.”

Mark whines loudly, swiping a hand at Yuta and telling them to stop ganging up on him. He knows he’s an embarrassment when it comes to hunting, he doesn’t need them to tell him.

King Myeongho yells back for them to all be quiet, saying that they’ll scare off anything within a hundred yards. They quiet down, but Youngho and Yuta still exchange amused smirks.

Mark has years of their teasing under his belt, and he’s unbothered by it now, even the joking about his engagement. It felt awkward at first, whenever he heard it mentioned in an off-hand manner. Now, he’s mostly gotten past that stage, as long as he doesn’t think too deeply about it.

The clearing that they chose is near a cliff edge, not far from the path leading up the mountain. They’re on the opposite side from the castle and city, so the cliff ledge overlooks pure wilderness, high up enough to show distant peaks, miles of snowy forest, and wide lakes. Evening has set in, and the distant horizon is painted purple and blue, blending into a deep indigo above them, where the bright dots of stars have poked through the sky’s dark canvas. It’s cold now, and it will only get colder, so Mark only allows himself a few minutes to watch the world settle down around him, before he heads into the tent.

It's the king, a few days later, who makes the shot and brings down an elk with an enormous rack of antlers. As they begin their trek back down toward the castle, Mark makes sure to look over his shoulder, just once, before the winter landscape is hidden by the trees once more.

 

 

❄

 

 

Several days after they return, Jaemin intercepts Mark at the end of breakfast.

“Can we talk? Come walk with me.” 

Mark nods, and they leave the great hall through the doors leading to the west wing. The warm bubble of conversation and the smell of food fades as they walk, away from the remainders of the royal family and staff members finishing their meals on a slow Sunday morning.

The hunting trip lasted barely a week, but already the preparations to receive the Southern royal family are in full swing. Every inch of the castle is being scrubbed and tidied, and Mark feels like spring cleaning has come earlier than usual this year. His mother has taken control of the preparations, and it has made her even more assiduous than usual. He’s been careful to avoid her as much as possible, as she was already asking his opinions on things the moment he got back. Mark wants to help, but deciding exactly which types of wine he thinks Prince Donghyuck will like isn’t really what he had in mind.

Jaemin wanting to talk seems like as good an excuse as any to make a quick escape from breakfast.

Jaemin leads him right as they exit the great hall. Mark hasn't been in the west wing of the castle much, as it only contains the rooms of his uncle's family, and the guest rooms. He supposes that this is where Prince Donghyuck will be staying.

Jaemin’s room is at the end of the main corridor, and Mark expects that this is where he’s taking him. Jaemin continues past it, however, and turns down the very last door in the hall. Although Mark likes to think that he knows this castle from top to bottom, having lived here his entire life and explored much of its interior as a child, he must admit that it holds more secrets than he could ever hope to know. This door, though hardly inconspicuous, is one of the many that he has never opened. When Jaemin unlatches it, he looks down into a poorly lit staircase, the bottom of which is obscured in shadows.

“Where are we going?” Mark asks, glancing at Jaemin.

“Downstairs,” is all that Jaemin says before starting down. Mark can slowly feel the suspicion creeping into him, realizing that he’s probably been roped into one of Jaemin’s schemes. With a sigh, he follows him through the door.

The descent doesn’t take as long as he expected, but it’s about a minute until they reach the bottom. The basement of the castle is especially cold, so much of it is used for storing food, though it seems unlikely that any food stores would be located so far from the kitchens. Jaemin seems to be familiar with the area as he leads them down the damp stone corridors, turning down twisting halls without hesitation.

Mark feels a shudder go through him as the cold begins to seep into his clothes, and he wishes that he hadn’t left his cloak in his bedroom this morning. Just as he’s beginning to wonder if they really are going somewhere specific, or if Jaemin’s just trying to get his exercise in, they come to a stop in front of a large room. It’s lit far better than the winding, dark hallways, and Mark blinks at the brightness. On the other side of the room, he can make out a dark wood door, and after a moment he realizes that there is a man standing beside it. He looks harder. Not a man, a boy.

The boy is tall, and wearing the leather and steel armor of the castle knights. He looks up quickly when they enter, and Mark is surprised to see a look of annoyance on his face.

“You’re late, hyung,” he says. When they step into the room, the expression is wiped off his face immediately.

“I got held up at breakfast,” Jaemin says. “Brat.”

He turns to Mark, grinning.

“Mark hyung, this charming boy is Jisung. A knight in the castle guard and my adopted child.”

Mark blinks, looking back at the boy. He wonders how someone who is seemly lowborn, but doesn’t look a day over seventeen could possibly be in the castle guard. There are divisions of knights in cities all over the country, but the one located right behind the castle usually only takes experienced knights and the sons of highborns.

Jisung looks panicked at Jaemin’s introduction, and stares at Mark with wide eyes before he quickly drops to one knee, his head bowed.

“Y-Your Grace, it’s, um, it’s a pleasure to-” 

“Oh, gods, please don’t do that,” Jaemin interrupts. “Stop acting dumb, Jisungie, you’re embarrassing me.”

Mark glances between them, amused and wondering how in the world Jaemin befriends such people. He’s been a little distant the past few weeks, but he has no idea when Jaemin had time to become so close to this kid without him noticing. He nods at Jisung to stand.

“It’s good to meet you, too, Jisung. You’re in the castle guard? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Oh, yes, um, I was just transferred to Buksan two months ago. I began my training when I was fourteen, but I completed most of it in Himmel.”

“Oh?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “That’s pretty impressive, for a knight your age. You must be pretty good with a sword.”

“I- well. Um.” Jisung’s eyes are even bigger than they were a moment ago.

“Shit, hyung, don’t compliment him, it’ll take a year for him to figure out how to answer,” Jaemin says, and this seems to break Jisung’s reverie, as he shoots him a glare. “Anyway, we came here for a purpose.” 

“Yeah, what was that again?” Mark asks. Jaemin wrinkles his nose, as if recalling a particularly unpleasant memory.

“Ever since the news of your engagement got around, my father has been sending me not-so-subtle hints about finding my own spouse. And it turned out that the Lord of Himmel has a daughter who is _also_ apparently at the age for marriage. Her name seemed to keep slipping into conversations with my parents. So Jisung here offered to look into her for me-” 

“You _ordered_ me to spy on her-”

“And since he was going back to Himmel with the commander to collect new recruits anyway, it worked out perfectly!”

“This all happened within the span of the week that I was gone?” Mark frowns. He’s still unsure where exactly this conversation is leading, and why it’s occurring underground in a dank old storage room with an underage knight, but he knows by now that rushing Jaemin to get to his point won’t actually get him to the end any faster. It’s better to just play along until he gets there himself. “Okay, well. What did you find out?”

Jaemin turns to Jisung expectantly and motions him to speak.

“Go on, tell him what you told me yesterday.”

“Um.” Whatever Jisung had told Jaemin before was apparently something that he would rather not repeat in front of a prince. Considering the fact that speaking ill of a noble could earn commoners anything from a few years in a dungeon to the loss of their fingers, this reluctance makes sense to Mark.

This either occurs to Jaemin as well, or he grows too impatient to wait, as he turns back to Mark with a pout on his face.

“She’s completely and utterly _boring,_ hyung. I could handle annoying, or ugly maybe, but boring has to be the worst. My father wants me to rot away the rest of my years with the dullest wife in the North.”

“Oh,” Mark says. “Well… I’m sure Jisung couldn’t have gotten a very good idea of her in just a few days. Maybe she’s different one on one?” 

“Oh, no,” Jaemin says heatedly. “Jisung took his job _seriously._ He found part of the path in their garden that leads directly under her window, and he listened to her talking to her handmaiden. For _two hours._ About _fungi.”_

“W-what?” Mark asks. He glances at Jisung, thinking that he had clearly underestimated him before. Even in the poor candlelight, an embarrassed flush can be seen on his face as he stares down at his boots.

“Yeah. Apparently she’s got a thing for weird plants,” Jaemin says.

“Oh. Well. That’s… unique. It could be quirky and cute, maybe?”

“No, hyung. It is boring. There’s nothing cute about fungi.”

Mark certainly agrees, but he’s not sure that saying so out loud would be particularly helpful to Jaemin. He’s torn between offering advice or sympathy, isn’t exactly sure which one Jaemin wants at this point. He wonders if other people feel the same way when they speak to Mark nowadays. He wonders how Prince Donghyuck feels about fungi.

“So… I’m sorry, but what exactly is the point of us being here again?” Mark says. Jaemin grins.

“I’m glad you asked,” he says, just as Mark begins to wish that he hadn’t asked. “I’ve gathered the two of you, my good friends, to help me brainstorm how we’re going to get me out of this sticky issue with the plant lady.”

“Hyu- My Lord, I don’t think this is a very good idea,” Jisung says quickly. “And I don’t think that there’s much I can do to help with that.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re plenty clever,” Jaemin says, reaching to ruffle his hair. Jisung looks pained for a moment. “And stop with the titles, Mark hyung doesn’t care.” 

Mark really doesn’t care, though he had at least listened when his father had lectured them on maintaining appearances and using formalities, even though Jaemin definitely did not. _A prince is only a prince if his people believe him one. And they show their belief with words._

“I have to agree, Jaemin, I think that if your father wants you to marry this girl, you shouldn’t make trouble over it,” Mark says. Jaemin meets his eyes, and Mark feels guilty when he sees the disappointment in them. His and Jaemin’s situations are not the same, not at all, but still he feels responsible, like he has to tell Jaemin the same thing he told himself. The difference is that Jaemin could never accept it. Mark was raised to do his duty without question; Jaemin’s father tried to raise him with the same, but no one could ever make him do something he didn’t want to do. Mark knows this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Jaemin’s disappointment has already disappeared; his eyes are bright, and lit with determination.

“It’s okay. I know that it’s a long shot. But I won’t marry her, hyung. That’s not the future I’m going to.”

Mark simply nods, knowing that there is no other way to respond.

Jisung glances between them warily, unsure if he’s allowed to tread upon this moment, but he eventually finds his voice again.

“Hyung… I have to leave. I have a training session soon.”

Jaemin turns to him, a new grin on his face, and Mark thinks that this one is almost more delicate than any of the others he’s seen.

“Of course, Jisungie, thanks for coming anyway. I’m glad you could meet Mark hyung, finally.”

Jisung glances back at Mark, and slowly pulls his lips up tentatively to return Mark’s smile.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again, Jisung, if I have time to stop by the barracks soon,” Mark says. “I hope you’ll take good care of Jaemin for me. Don’t let him do too many of his stupid ideas.”

“Ah, yes, Your Grace, I’ll try,” he says, and gives a quick bow before he disappears through the door on the far side of the room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hyung,” Jaemin sniffs. “I have excellent self control.”

 

 

They reenter the labyrinth of twisting hallways, and Jaemin is quiet for a while. They weren’t in the room for very long, but Mark is starting to feel weird, like he’s losing time down here in the dark. He wants to be back aboveground so he can see the sun, and know for sure that it wasn’t long. He knows logically that it must still be late morning, but his brain feels like it could be midday or the middle of the night.

“Hyung,” Jaemin says, and Mark glances over at him questioningly. “I hope that… you don’t think I sound whiny, or ungrateful, or… like I’m diminishing your situation. I mean, I know that you have it worse than me.”

He pauses, and Mark waits patiently for him to finish forming his thought. He fidgets as he walks, twisting rings around his fingers and scuffing his boots against the floor. He looks up.

“I don’t want to seem like a coward, because I can’t handle a marriage that wouldn’t even require me to move, or really change much about my life at all. It’s just… I need something _more._ I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to,” Mark says. “I understand. I think that if you were in my position, you would do the same thing I am. You love the North, and you would make sacrifices for it if someone asked you to. But no one’s asking. I don’t think you’re weak for wanting to see more than the inside of this castle’s walls for the rest of your life. You’ve always wanted more than that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jaemin mumbles. “I just feel kinda insensitive, complaining about it.”

“Don’t. You shouldn’t,” Mark says simply. Jaemin nods.

“Thank you, hyung,” he says quietly, and doesn’t let the moment linger more than a few seconds before he’s grinning again and elbowing Mark in the side. “Enough with that, you look too tired to be talking about this heavy stuff.”

“I _am_ tired,” Mark complains. “I haven’t gotten a good rest in over a week.”

“What, having nightmares about what color candles should be put in the guest chambers?” Jaemin laughs, and Mark groans again.

“It’s only been a day, and my mother’s already going to drive me crazy. I just need some excuse to avoid her for the next week and a half and I’ll be fine.”

“You think it’ll stop just because the Southerners are here? Oh, I think the questions will be worse then. The wedding is all the way in Haegeum, but I’m sure she’ll still find a way to decide what flowers will decorate the ceremony.”

Mark shakes his head at him, not gracing this with a response. His mother had mentioned the wedding for the first time yesterday. It is, as he expected, to be held in Haegeum, the Southern capital. Maybe a small part of him had privately hoped that in traveling all the way north, the Southerners would decide to have the wedding in Buksan, instead. Then Mark’s family could be there as well. He’s not sure if it’s better or worse that the ceremony will be in Haegeum; at least this way, when he leaves Buksan it will still be as a Prince of the North.

“I suppose no one in your family is going, then?” Jaemin asks.

“No,” Mark says. “My mother… Well, it would probably be a venture of over two months, for them. That’s a lot of time for them to be away from home, especially after spending a month caught up with acting as host to another royal family.”

“The Southerners will be away for even longer.”

“The North is different,” Mark says immediately, and Jaemin smiles.

“Yes, it is,” he says. “Still, you’ll be getting married alone. Are you upset?”

“My mother said that she wishes they could come. But I don’t blame them, I know that it’s not a good time for the King and Queen to be leaving the country.” Mark shrugs. “Besides, it’s not that common for the family of the prince’s betrothed to attend the wedding, when the kingdoms are so far.”

“I guess so,” Jaemin sighs, and sounds like he doesn’t really care for the reason why the sad thing has to happen, but would rather just focus on feeling sad over it instead.

When they reach the top of the stairs, he stops suddenly, digging his hand into his pocket. He pulls out a crumpled up piece of parchment and immediately presents it to Mark.

He takes it, confused, and unfolds it to see the name _Kim Sikyung_ scribbled in unfamiliar handwriting, written above a second line that reads: _GOLDEN SEA: A MODERN HISTORY OF THE SOUTH KINGDOM._ He looks back up at Jaemin.

“What is this?”

“A book. Book title. I forgot to give it to you before. When you were away last week I was in the library, and thought that maybe I could find something a little more helpful than rumors. I spoke to the librarian, and he suggested that to me. Said that it’s all up to date, has the whole royal family in it. It probably tells a bit more than our old foreign politics lessons did, at least.”

“Huh,” Mark says. “So I have to go book hunting now?”

Jaemin scrunches his nose up at him. “You don’t _have_ to, dumbass, I just thought it might have something interesting in it. It wouldn’t hurt to know a thing or two about the country and family you’re moving into in a few months.”

Mark giggles at Jaemin’s prickliness and stuffs the slip into his pocket. “I’ll take a look later on. Thanks, Jaemin.” It’s a thoughtful gesture; not particularly surprising when it comes to Jaemin, but appreciated nonetheless.

For all the love that Mark has for his parents and his siblings, he thinks that if he had the choice, if he could take just one person when he moves away, he would take Jaemin with him. He wonders what he would say to that.

 

 

❄

 

 

When Mark was younger, his mother used to bring him to the castle's library all the time.

She would show him her favorite corners of the long room, dark aisles filled with books on history and books on medicine and books on flowers. She often pointed out to him which books were hers, that she had loaded into four large crates and brought with her when she moved north to marry his father. She said that she could not leave a single book of hers when she left, afraid that it would fall to ruin in the heat and humidity of the Emerald Isles without her attentive care.

The castle's library is made up of only one story but the ceilings of the room are high, with book shelves covering every wall and stretching up ten feet above Mark’s head. Large chandeliers and torches wash the room in golden light, and the velvet seats and dark oak tables help to make the library feel smaller and cozier than it actually is.

Mark trails slowly through the endless aisles, feeling their familiarity sink into him. He hasn’t been here in a long time, since he grew older and became busier with lessons and princely duties. He remembers he used to lie on the floor at his mother’s feet reading fairy tales and stories of heroes for hours on end. A part of him misses the simplicity and easy joy of those old stories. Misses the lazy summer afternoons spent tucked between dusty shelves getting lost in a different world. He wonders if he could bring a few crates of books with him when he moves, too.

The history section is large, but it takes a relatively short amount of time to locate what he’s looking for.

The book is heavy, and dusty, and the cover is so faded that Mark wonders for a moment how it could possibly claim to be _modern._ The cover is made of a thick, warm brown leather, and the spine has ridges and cracks that have grown soft in its old age. Mark runs his fingertips over these cracks, then the thin gold lettering across the front, spelling out _“Golden Sea: A Modern History of the South Kingdom.”_

His slight confusion is mended when he splits open the book to find that the pages that have been filled only last about halfway through; closer to the end of the book, the words are darker and sharper, clearly penned far more recently than the pages preceding them. He leafs through them, scanning over paragraphs upon paragraphs detailing the Southern Kingdom’s long and complicated history, with details of all the wars and rulers that have come and gone. 

Soon he comes to a stop, letting the book rest open on a page with an illustration of a stern, regal-looking man with a short beard. Below the image, he reads his name: _King Junghoon._ The current king. It lists his birthdate, his coronation date, and for several pages after tells of his many great accomplishments. There’s open space at the end, ready to be filled someday by his future, how he served his country until death. It is on the next page that Mark finds the true object of his interests.

Queen Youngmi is listed first, with a brief bit of information on her, before their children are introduced: Prince Donghyuck and Princess Kyeonghee.

None of them have their own images, a right evidently reserved only for kings, but under Donghyuck’s name is a short paragraph:

 _Prince Donghyuck was the first son born to King Junghoon and_ _Queen Youngmi on the 6th of June under the twins’ stars._ _He was born of bright golden hair and a dark Southern complexion._ _As the first and only son of King Junghoon, he was named the heir_ _to the kingdom upon his birth. The 6th of June was the first clear_ _day following two weeks of rain on the southern coast of the kingdom,_ _and so many believed his birth to be a symbol of good fortune; this_ _first earned him the nickname of “Sun,” though this appellation is_ _now said to refer to the Prince’s shining beauty and brilliance._ _In September of the Prince’s second year, Princess Kera was born_ _to Queen Corin of the Emerald Isles, and was promised to Prince_ _Donghyuck to marry upon his 20th birthday and serve as his Queen._

Once he finishes reading, Mark pauses for a moment, leaning back against the bookshelf behind him. He already knew that Donghyuck has a sister, remembers vaguely hearing the news of her birth one winter when he was eight or nine, but he never knew the prince's birthdate. June 6th. His father had told him it was in June, since that is when they are to be married, but not the exact day. He supposes that now, though, he finally knows the date of his own wedding.

Mark flips forward in the book, to see that the next section is labelled with the title “ _WAR WITH THE EAST.”_ This book must have been updated several years after the war. When he reaches the end of this section, he finds that the remaining pages are blank, though there is a title at the top: _“KING DONGHYUCK.”_ Empty pages, waiting to be filled by the future King Donghyuck’s legacy.

All of the sudden, realization hits Mark: one day, his name is going to be penned into this book.

He stares at the two words hard, until they begin to blur together. Empty pages, that were meant to be filled by Prince Donghyuck’s reign beside Princess Kera. A southern queen, who would be fitting for a southern king. He feels his hands tremble slightly on the smooth pages, and snaps the book shut.

“Mark?”

His head snaps up, and he finds his mother standing at the far end of the aisle. He clears his throat and pulls himself to his feet hastily, nodding to her as she approaches.

“Mother! I was just—reading.”

“Oh?” she asks, beckoning him over to her. “I haven’t seen you in here in a long time. What was it that you were reading?”

She looks curious, and kind, and these things combined with the backdrop of the library present what Mark thinks is the most accurate image of his mother. It is only with some reluctance that he holds out the book once he reaches her.

She looks down at the cover, and Mark fidgets slightly while he waits for her to look back up at him. She does, after a moment, with a soft smile on her face.

“And did you find anything interesting in here, my son?”

“Ah—no, not really, I don’t think.” Mark frowns down at his boots, and his mother is patient while she waits for him to sort out his thoughts. “It’s just… well, what if I’m no good at it?”

“Good at what, darling?”

“At, um, being Donghyuck’s husband. And serving the South. What if I can’t be the type of ruler that he and his people deserve? Princess Kera was from the south of the realm and I—I’m not. What if I never learn how to be?”

His mother takes his hand, gently, and pulls him over to one of the long tables in the middle of the hall. They sit on the bench and she puts his hand in her lap, between both of her own.

“Oh, my love. You may not be of the South, but still you have southern blood in you. Have I ever told the story of your name?”

She has, and they both know that she has, but Mark shakes his head anyway.

“I arrived at my wedding with skin still dark from the sun and ears still filled with the echo of the waves. It took me a very long time to get used to not being in the Isles anymore, and even longer to get used to the North. With time, though, I came to love this country just as fiercely as your father did. I made the North into my home despite how sure I was while saying my vows that I never could. But still I wanted my heritage to live with me, and so I begged the king to let me give a southern name to one of our children. I had one ready the day Youngho was born, but he said that the future king should have a Northern name. So I waited, and I had you, and gave you the name of my father, who was one of the greatest kings the Emerald Isles ever saw.”

Mark smiles, feeling warmth seep through him the way it always seems to when he is with his mother.

“I wish I could have met your father,” he says.

“I wish you could have too, I know he would have loved you.”

She tightens her grip on his hand, then reaches up to brush his hair away from his face.

“I suppose that my interests in giving you a southern name were not entirely selfish, though. A part of me hoped that it would maybe give _you_ a piece of the south, as well. That maybe you could carry the sea of my first home in your veins, even if you never got to see it.”

Mark lets out a slow breath and closes his eyes. Over the past weeks, he has felt so many waves of love and heartbreak crashing in his chest, that he doesn’t know what to do with them all.

“You never told me the first part of that story before—that you were still unsure when you got married,” he says, and she laughs.

“Oh, Mark, you have always been the biggest worrier of my children.” She stands, her soft cotton dress of silver and emerald swaying around her. “Yes, I was still unsure when I married your father, but who isn’t? I’m sure that no matter what happens over the next few months, you and Prince Donghyuck will live a long and happy life together, and you will learn to love your new home just as I did.”

She says his _home,_ not his husband, and Mark supposes that maybe he still can be happy, even if he doesn’t fall in love. He grew up surrounded by so much love, though, that he can’t help but feel the smallest bit greedy for it.  To ask for something, however, is the best way not to get it. He rises after her, and she hugs him gently.

“And no matter what, know that the North will never leave you, my love. It flows in your veins just as deeply as the south does.”

Mark hugs her back, and for a moment it feels like he is eight years old again, when no hurt could not be solved by twisting his hands in his mother’s dress while she brushed the tears from his cheeks. A private part of him wishes that he could stay like that forever, and never have to leave the familiarity of his childhood. A bigger part of him, though, one that’s been growing slowly and steadily in the recent days, is finally ready to step outside of it. To see the world beyond the mountains that he never thought he would meet. The prospect had been overwhelming at first, that his world would be expanding all the way down to the distant shores of the Southern capital, when he never thought that he would leave the North before. But now that it’s had time to sit with him, he thinks he’s ready. Or will be eventually, at least. He’s not very much worried anymore how he will fit in the South. Now it’s how—if—the South will fit to him.

 

 

❄

 

 

On the morning that the Southerners are meant to arrive in Buksan, Mark wakes up late.

Watery sunlight is filtering through the thin windows in his room when he opens his eyes, and there’s a hesitant knocking on the door.

“Your Grace? Are you awake yet?” the voice of a maid calls through the wood. “The Queen wanted to make sure you would be ready before midday to welcome the Southern guests.”

Mark sits up, rubbing at his eyes groggily, as his brain sheds the dresses of sleep slowly. He doesn’t think that it’s quite midday yet, but it’s probably not far off now. He stumbles out of bed, tugging on a shirt and leaning over to light the candles on his bedside table. At that moment the knocking returns, but significantly louder, and Mark straightens with a start.

When he tugs open the door, it is not a maid waiting for him, but Yuta.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he says mirthfully, before brushing past him into the room. Hanging over his arm is a thick pile of fabrics.

“Good morning, hyung,” Mark says back, scratching the back of his head while he pushes the door closed. “What’s that?”

“Your new attire. Your mother had them ordered and wants you to wear them today.” Yuta clucks his tongue at the sight of Mark’s unmade bed, but throws the robes down on the sheets anyway before sitting there himself.

“Did you eat my maid? What are you bringing them here for?”

“I thought I’d come see how you’re doing,” Yuta says, and raises an eyebrow at Mark’s tired eyes and generally rumpled appearance. “Clearly this is not your finest morning.”

Mark wrinkles his nose at him and goes to quickly wash his face while Yuta waits in his room. When Mark returns he goes to the bed and pulls the clothes out to see them better. He finds a handsome black tunic made of a thick and warm cotton, accompanied by a supple, dark leather belt with matching gloves. The cloak meant to be worn over it is large, the outer layer lined in dark green velvet and the top covered by a thick fur collar that drapes over the shoulders. The outfit is elegant, regal. Sure to look impressive.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Mark admits, going over to his bureau to find a pair of pants.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Yuta says. “Late night thoughts about your betrothed keeping you awake?”

“Something like that,” Mark snorts, pulling on a pair of thick leather trousers.  “Where’s Youngho hyung?

“Doing damage control, probably. Your mother went on a bit of a rampage this morning when she heard that the last case of wine hadn’t arrived yet. For such a kind woman, she can be pretty intense when things don’t work out how they’re supposed to.”

Mark laughs. “She’s never hosted such high-class guests before. She’s just nervous.”

“ _She’s_ nervous? I’m the one who’s gonna have a nervous breakdown if she yells at me one more time for ordering the wrong colored candles in the dining hall or whatever.”

Yuta pouts dramatically and Mark rolls his eyes in amusement, but doesn’t respond. He tugs the tunic over his head, then fits the belt around his waist. His black leather boots are waiting by his bed, and he sits down to tug them on.

“So, do we know yet when they’re supposed to arrive?” he asks, and Yuta gives a noncommittal shrug.

“A few hours ago, the rumor was that they had just passed through Himmel. So probably not for another few hours still.”

“Okay.” Mark finishes tying his boots, and sits up, sucking his breath in through his teeth. “Great.”

Yuta smirks, clapping him on the shoulder. “Nervous?”

“Just a little. Kinda wish they could just be here already, I think the waiting only makes it worse.”

The final remnants of sleep have finally faded, and he finds the exhaustion replaced by jittery anticipation. The day has finally come. He really does wish it was over already. He wishes it was several weeks from now, and he’s already passed the awkward getting-used-to-it phase. He wishes it was last winter, and he was making snowmen in the back courtyard with Minji, not a single thought in his head concerned with who he would someday marry. But time does not yield to any of these wishes, and so he rises from the bed, reaching for the elegant cloak that will cover Prince Donghyuck’s first impression of his new consort.

The anticipation sits heavy in his veins, but he’s surprised to find that it’s not really a nervous anticipation. He probably used up all his nerves last night, lying awake in bed until the light of dawn crept in through the windows, while thoughts chased each other in circles around his head.

“We should probably go out, now,” Yuta says. “Before the Queen tears apart your brother.”

Mark sighs, nodding. “Once more unto the breach, hyung.”

 

 

It’s just about reached midday, and every inch of the castle is in furious motion.

The wing that holds the royal family’s bed chambers is fairly removed from the rest of the castle, but even still Mark is surprised that it was so quiet in his room. There’s a faint roar that can be heard just about everywhere coming from the kitchens, a mix of voices yelling and utensils clacking and fires roaring. The rest of the castle is not too far off, as maids and servants and guardsmen rush back and forth, hauling cleaning supplies or decorations or moving to different posts. Many stop to give a swift bow to the Prince and the King’s ward as they move through the corridors, but it’s barely a moment before they’re bustling off again. Mark didn’t even know this many people worked in the castle.

It’s not often that Mark has seen it in such a state of activity, and especially not during the winter. He has heard that the Southern King and his army stayed in Buksan for several days after the end of the War with the East, but there was no time for formal preparations to be made in the days after battle, and since then the city has only welcomed such esteemed guests one other time.

In the summer of his thirteenth year, the recently crowned Western King had traveled north on a diplomatic mission. Only seventeen years old, King Kun's coronation had come as a shock to most of the realm. An accident at sea led to the sinking of his parents’ ship, and although he was their heir, many thought he would not be crowned as such until after his birthday.

His visit was the first time Mark can remember meeting royalty from another country. The King and his brothers, Princes Renjun and Chenle, stayed in the North for three weeks; Renjun was about his age, and Mark took a liking to him quickly. He was open-minded and friendly, if a little sarcastic sometimes, and he seemed to enjoy Mark and Jaemin’s company just as much as they did his. Chenle was loud and unapologetic and sweet. He, too, was hard not to like.

Now, the cleaning and cooking and castle adornments seem to be made even more fanciful than that occasion. Everything has been done in a mix of greens and golds, celebrating the joining of the two royal houses. Mark looks back and forth at the walls, admiring the brilliant new tapestries hanging from them.

It doesn’t take long for he and Yuta to find the Queen; she’s standing in the center of the entrance hall, the normally freezing room made warm by the dozens of bodies rushing through it. She shouts out orders left and right in the middle of the throng, a commander on her battlefield. Youngho is beside her, and he grins when he notices them enter the chaotic scene.

“Mark! Yuta!” he calls, beckoning them over.

Mark’s mother turns, and her stern and authoritative expression immediately drops at the sight of her son, turning into one of pure delight.

“Oh, Mark!” she fusses, reaching out to him. “Oh, my, you look even more handsome than I imagined!”

Her eyes shine with pride, and Mark ducks his head in embarrassment as she pats the fur collar of his cloak.

“Mother, please,” he mumbles. He tries to ignore Youngho and Yuta snickering at him over the Queen’s shoulder.

“What? Can I not be proud of my son—”

The remainder of her words are cut off, as the rest of the room stills suddenly. Mark looks over to see the staff have momentarily paused in their duties to bow upon the entrance of the king. 

He smiles at them grandly from the doorway into the great hall, and sweeps forward quickly.

“Myeongho!” the Queen says. “Preparations are just about finished, we should be ready at any time now.”

“Excellent,” he says. “Because they’ve just reached the Tower Bridge, and are entering the city.”

“Oh—already?” Mark asks. “I thought we had a few more hours, at least.”

“Evidently not. The snow didn’t slow them down as much as we thought, it seems!”

Mark’s father seems to be in a good mood, and his mother looks equally excited by the news. Mark feels Youngho’s hand land on his shoulder, and he turns to see him and Yuta watching him carefully.

“Are you ready, Mark?” Youngho asks, and Yuta nudges him, grinning.

“Of course he is. Once more unto the breach, Your Grace.”

 

 

When the Southerners arrive, it is with no small amount of fanfare. Trumpets announce elegant carriages, pulled by strong white horses and surrounded by shining knights in armor stained as bright gold as the banners waving above them.

The locals of Buksan welcome them with similarly loud enthusiasm, as most of the village has gathered in the streets to watch the golden procession make its way up the winding snowy path to the castle. Though not traditionally known for being the most welcoming folk to outsiders, Northerners have always been eager to accept anything that gives them an excuse for celebration. They throw handfuls of winter jasmine and camellias in front of the carriages, and the road quickly fills with yellow and pink flowers.

The King and Queen of the North stand at the entrance to the castle in wait, framed on either side by their three children. Behind them waits the rest of the family, with many of the main advisors and castle staff at their backs.

Three of the carriages pull into the front yard of the castle, stopping halfway to the front steps. Mark strains his neck as subtly as possible, trying to see around the horses and aides that rush to pull open the carriage doors. Out from the first step the Southern King and Queen, each looking equally regal and brilliant, but Mark’s gaze barely focuses on them before it’s bouncing back to the carriages behind them, searching desperately for their first glimpse of the Prince.

The few seconds that he has to wait feel like an eternity, but still end with the door of the second carriage being pushed open, and Mark’s betrothed stepping down onto the snow-dusted cobblestone.

Mark’s breath gets caught in his throat as he feels the world narrow down to a point. A point with bright gold hair, and sun-warmed bronze skin, and big, handsome features. Prince Donghyuck is standing in the courtyard of his castle, and Mark looks, and looks, and looks.

The past several weeks have been an exercise in coming to terms with becoming the Southern Prince’s consort. He’s slowly but surely made peace with the idea of moving south, of being a ruler, of marrying a stranger. Admittedly, how he would be building a relationship with that stranger hadn’t always been the first thing on his mind. As much as he wanted it to, it didn’t matter before, because it didn’t change anything. Their marriage was duty, necessity. So Mark had spent more time thinking about being the _Prince’s_ husband than _Donghyuck’s_ husband. Love is an easy thing to wish for, but knowing as little as he did about Donghyuck, he could never dream of it too deeply. He didn’t know what to do with the thought of being Donghyuck’s husband. But now, as he’s seeing him for the first time with his chin held high and sharp eyes darting over everything around him, Mark thinks that he may have a better idea. That maybe he doesn’t mind.

This is what he thinks, and almost as if he was speaking aloud, as if Donghyuck could hear him, those eyes move to meet his. Mark’s lungs stutter again and he feels the rhythm of his heartbeat in his ears. After a moment, he offers a tentative smile, hoping his nerves don’t show through it.

Donghyuck holds their eye contact for another few seconds, face still just as impassive, before his gaze flicks down to the ground. Mark’s jaw clenches and he swallows. Donghyuck doesn’t look at him again.

His father breaks into his speech, welcoming the Southern family and offering them the full extent of Northern hospitality, but Mark finds himself barely listening, as he watches his betrothed watch his own feet.

He’s beginning to think that this is going to be even more complicated than he first realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! pls leave kudos or a comment if you liked it, feedback keeps me writing ♡


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